Poison
by unhappyENDING
Summary: Illyria wonders what love means. Wesley tries to show her.


"_And the taste of the poison on her lips is of a tomb_" – HIM, 'Poison Girl'

Wesley knew that in ten years, if he wasn't dead, that he'd look back on this night and cringe. He kept telling himself that he didn't understand why he was where he was, but, he knew. He shifted slightly, pulling a sheet up over his naked body. His eyes wandered over the curtained window, through which he could see faint traces of moonlight. A pale, slender hand slid over his back, and he rolled over, to face the figure lying next to him. Illyria's steely gaze stared back at him from beyond her blue eyes. _Fred's eyes weren't blue_, the voice in the back of his head taunted. He ignored the voice, reaching out to stroke Illyria's hair. "So, that was love?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper, but still haunting. Wesley's answer didn't come right away. He tossed the idea in his head for a few seconds. _Was it love?_ The corner of his mouth turned upward, and he locked his eyes with Illyria's. "That was desire, mere passion.. not love. Love is something you will never understand" he finally said, angrily pushing her away and climbing off the bed. Illyria seemed unfazed by his outburst, and simply turned over, pulling the sheet over her bare breasts, and uttering a short but sarcastic laugh. Wesley grabbed his pants and made his way in to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He couldn't avoid catching his reflection in the mirror, and he stared at himself, silently asking himself why he wasn't able to resist her. _She's not Fred, she'll never BE Fred, Fred is gone, _his mind kept screaming, _She's nothing but poison._

Wesley had been packing away the last of Fred's things the previous day. Her apartment had gone up for sale, and he had taken it upon himself to make sure her things reached her parents in Texas. He was, after all, the one who had called them and told them that their daughter was dead. The fact that he hadn't mentioned that her body was now inhabited by an ageless demon didn't bother him; it was better that they didn't know. He was wrapping some of Fred's trinkets in packing paper when he felt the cold eyes fall on him. His senses had become well-honed in the last few years. "Illyria, did I not tell you that it is customary for one to knock before entering a home?" he asked her, a firm tone in his voice. Illyria came out of the shadows in the corner, and smiled, her purple lips curling into that perfect smile that Wesley remembered seeing on Fred. "I didn't think it was necessary, as this is not really a home anymore. No one lives here." Her voice was full of discontentment, something to be readily expected from a demon such as she. Wesley was annoyed by her constant reading into things, but didn't have the will to say anything more to her. He continued his packing, taking extra care to make sure none of the things he wrapped would be broken in the shipping process. Illyria walked around the room, running her fingers over everything, as if to make sure that it was actually there. She had become quickly adjusted to this time, but there were still some things that she didn't understand. Wesley had given her books to read on many different subjects. It was much easier than having to teach her everything himself. "There is one thing I keep reading about, Wesley, that I wonder about. It is something that has been written of over and over again, but I am sure that I have never experienced it." Her voice sent a chill down his spine. Though it still sounded like Fred's had, it had a hint of something otherworldly. She closed in behind him, so that her hand was around his waist and her chin was resting on his shoulder. Wesley could feel her icy breath on his skin, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He choked over his words; "A-And what is that, then, Illyria?" he asked. Her tongue flicked out and caressed his cheek. "Love" was her answer, and Wesley went rigid at the word. He turned to face her, setting down the china plate that he had been wrapping. His eyes rolled over Illyria's face, and he knew he was seeing Illyria, but somehow, his mind told him it was Fred. Maybe it was simply that he had been longing for Fred's touch for so long, that it didn't matter to him right now. His eyes flickered and he pulled Illyria in to a kiss. Her lips tasted bitter, but he didn't care. His tongue rolled around inside her mouth, and she returned the gesture just as favorably. He pulled away after a moment, surprise caressing his features. Illyria simply smiled, and reached up, pulling off the top that she was wearing, discarding it on the ground. Wesley hesitated, doubt seeping through his mind, but was soon overcome by passion, and he threw off his shirt as well. Illyria grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in to the bedroom, and Wesley crumpled on to the bed as Illyria began to undo his pants. _This is wrong_, his conscious told him, but he was too blinded by his desire to listen. His pants were soon discarded, and Illyria's joined them on the floor soon after. He was somehow unsurprised by the fact that she was not wearing any panties. She lay on the bed now, that scheming smile still painted across her lips, and Wesley crawled on top of her, kissing her neck. Illyria's hands found Wesley's chest, and her cold touch made him shiver as she caressed him. _She's cold_ came the thought in his head as he pulled her into another passionate kiss, but his mind still screamed Fred, and he suddenly didn't mind. He entered her then, and Illyria's smile faded, but she moaned softly, the otherworldly tone still evident. It registered in Wesley's mind as he was making love to her that she was cold, even inside. He could feel it; the cold seemed to envelop his body, but the memories of Fred kept pounding in his head so he didn't stop until he climaxed. Beads of sweat were dotted across his forehead as he finally pulled out, and collapsed next to her. He breathed heavily, and turned quickly to look at Illyria, whose lips had curled back into that smile he hated on her so much, because it belonged on Fred. Her eyes were closed, and he was glad for that as wiped his forehead, and licked his lips. They tasted like poison.


End file.
